


go down in style

by Ecphasis



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Community: wrestlingkink, Dom Seth, M/M, Multi, Seth is kind of skeevy at the beginning, Sub Roman
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-23
Updated: 2017-01-23
Packaged: 2018-09-19 08:39:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9430754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ecphasis/pseuds/Ecphasis
Summary: a fill for a fantastic prompt on the kink meme (http://wrestlingkink.dreamwidth.org/279.html?thread=1233943#cmt1233943).





	1. part one

**Author's Note:**

> title is from "bruises and bitemarks" by good with grenades.  
> feedback is greatly appreciated. am currently working on the last part of the fic, feel free to poke me to hurry my ass up.

He hadn't let himself dwell on how /alone/ the draft had left him, but that didn't mean Roman could shake off the feeling. The loneliness that he hadn't felt since the time his hernia had taken him out of action, left him home while Dean and his cousins were still out on the road, leaving no one to help fill the silence that had settled heavily on his shoulders, his chest, weighed him down. And how /heavy/ Roman felt now.

It didn't help that he had no way of relieving any of the tension or pressure -- pressure from the fans, the universe, his bosses and the faceless people on the internet who found it easy in their anonymity to drag Roman and tear him apart, but also from himself. The need to constantly improve, expecting the most from himself because anything less would make him look weak, would give the critics fuel, would validate the claims that Roman hadn't made it thanks to hard work and busting his ass but because of his family, because he'd ridden the coattails of Dean and Seth in the Shield.

The Shield. It had taken a long time to convince himself that he didn't need the Shield, at least not in the capacity that they'd been before Seth had swung that steel chair. He couldn't fool himself, knew he wasn't the type of person who could stand on his own (the "one versus all" motto had always rung hollow and colored with irony), allowed himself to depend on Dean, but he told himself that he didn't need Seth. He couldn't need Seth, because Seth wouldn't be there even if he did.

At least, that was what Roman had thought. Almost two years of a cold shoulder, of disinterest in most cases but anger at best, and suddenly Seth seemed to realize he still existed.

When Seth had first approached Roman, he'd hesitated. He wished he could say he'd stopped and thought about it long and hard, but the more he'd thought about it, the more confused and conflicted he'd gotten, self-reflection and examination of his feelings revealing nothing but more contradicting emotions. Dean would have told Seth no, but Dean wasn't there. And Dean didn't know what it was like to need something so badly and to have no one to provide it; now that he knew someone was willing to, the knowledge would have eaten at the back of his mind until he broke.

They'd had a similar arrangement in the Shield, and, while they hadn't /come out/ about it to the public, they'd always been affectionate. Seth had never pulled away from a touch, never hesitated to pull Roman into a hug whether there were cameras on or not, but things had changed. Seth had changed. (They'd changed.) There were rules now, rules that hadn't been there before, about keeping things hidden, a secret. He couldn't find it in himself to complain, especially not that he was, for the first time in months, able to simply /be/.

Besides, it wasn't as if he had much time to dwell on the past. Hard to think about anything with a clear head now that he was constantly hovering right at the edge, Seth taking him so deep into subspace that he wasn't sure he ever fully resurfaced after a scene. And fuck if Roman wasn't loving it.

Smackdown Live and Raw didn't travel together, but most of one brand's roster would watch the other show, some out of curiosity and others to keep track of the competition. Which meant that Dean would, more likely than not, know what happened on Raw -- either seeing it or hearing about it from someone else.

Not that it occurred to Roman, of course. In a blissful daze backstage, Seth having spent some time in his locker room with Roman on his knees at his feet, just the act of kneeling with his hands crossed at the wrists behind his back giving him an almost tangible satisfaction. So when they were walking around backstage and one of the interviewers approached them, Roman didn't even notice that Seth was more touchy than usual. A hand on his back, clasping his shoulder, standing close enough that their sides touched and he could feel the heat of Seth's breath.

Later that night, they were tangled up in bed when Roman's phone went off, but Seth ordered him to ignore it, which meant whoever it was had to leave a message as Roman was being fucked into the mattress, on hands and knees with his face pressed into the bed and back arched.

(He checked it in the morning, saw a missed call from Dean -- who, of course, hadn't left a voicemail, because Dean had never been patient enough to wait for it to kick in -- and almost called him back, wondering what exactly caused the sudden change in heart. They hadn't properly talked in months, a few texts exchanged but more formal and habitual than deep or sincere, so to suddenly have a call from Dean, something must have been going on. Or Dean was in trouble. But Seth talked him into joining him in the shower and the call was forgotten.)

Seth knew Roman like he knew his own mind, was able to understand what Roman needed seemingly better than Roman himself, and Roman let himself forget the hurt that still caused his chest to ache sometimes at having been betrayed, discarded. Able to avoid the voice in the back of his mind that asked if Seth really wanted Roman or if this was just another game because Seth seemed to be able to sense the doubts, would always silence them with a thorough spanking that left his entire body tingling and mind floating or by crooning praise in a velvet voice that somehow made the sweet "good boy"s sound downright filthy.

~~

Seth had, in the past few years, learned that he had a right to whatever he wanted. The Authority had complied with any demands he'd made, and, even after Triple H had betrayed him, Seth had simply done whatever he'd wanted without any real consequence. And Roman's forgiveness had only reaffirmed that self-entitlement. Now what Seth was after -- aside from the title, which he wouldn't stop chasing until it was on his shoulder or around his waist where it belonged -- was the other man whose love he'd still yet to recapture.

It just so happened that, a few weeks before the pay-per-view, the brands started traveling together -- which gave Seth the opportunity he'd been looking for to show off how /good/ Roman was for him. Not that he hadn't thought about snapping pictures, Roman on his knees or spread out on the bed with his face flushed, lips parted as he took heavy, shaky breaths, eyes half-lidded and slightly glazed over; Roman probably wouldn't even notice (or care if he did) and, anyways, there would be no reason to think that Seth planned to /do/ anything with them anyways, that he wasn't going to simply keep them on his phone for his own personal entertainment. No reason to suspect that Seth would have sent them to their former teammate. He'd considered videos, too, especially one of Roman sucking his cock, since he looked so damn pretty like that, Seth's hand fisting his hair and making him moan around his cock with every tug.

But there was a chance Dean wouldn't even look at them, would recognize Seth's number even after all this time. Seth had never changed it, after all, hadn't had a need to. And even if he did want to look at them, who knew if Dean could actually open them on his phone, possessing the tech savviness of a rock and a phone older than his WWE career.

Luckily, life had a tendency to work out in Seth's favor -- ignoring the moment when a simple sunset flip had his knee buckling -- and it seemed like Dean wanted to talk to Roman. Was purposefully seeking him out backstage, but he was beaten every time by Seth, who'd have Roman occupied and therefore oblivious to Dean's presence. Dean could have easily spoken up if he /really/ needed to talk to Roman. It wasn't Seth's fault that he didn't get to have whatever conversation Dean wanted to have with the Samoan.

It started off innocently enough -- a hand on the small of Roman's back during an interview, then later at his waist when Dean was within eyesight. Sliding lower to give Roman's round ass a gentle, playful squeeze as Dean walked past, trusting he'd glanced back and noticed the very purposeful placement. Roman had given him a surprised, almost startled look for grabbing his rear but Seth'd just smirked and drawled in Roman's ear that he just couldn't resist, causing Roman to blush and, for someone who'd spent countless promos speaking over the boos of raucous crowds, he was certainly easy to fluster when it came to being complimented in any way. Maybe because so few people had kind words for him nowadays, which gave Seth power over Roman, a power that he might have exploited for his own benefit.

To be fair, the culmination of this flaunting, subtle to most but more than enough for Dean to take notice, for it to get under the dirty blond's skin, dig deep and make him bristle, had been entirely coincidental. In Roman's locker room, Roman bent over and hands bracing himself against the wall as Seth fucked him, slow but solid, rough thrusts that jostled his body with every forward motion of Seth's hips, his low moans filling the room despite his best efforts to keep quiet, teeth digging into his lip harsh enough to draw blood but still not muffling the pleased noises Seth could expertly draw from him. A knock on the door, one that Seth ignored, because Roman was intimidating enough that most of the locker room knew better than to just let themselves in and he assumed that the person would, perhaps, wait a few moments and then leave.

Then he heard the door open.

Seth's head whipping around, hips stilling momentarily, instantly recognizing who it was and offering a shit-eating grin, picking up an abrupt, quick rhythm, pounding into Roman and watching the look on Dean's face as he heard the whines coming from the largest former Shield member. 

Dean's expression suddenly went blank, all emotion gone, a sure sign that it had gotten to him; for someone who was usually so /expressive/, that meant one thing and one thing only. It had /hurt/ Dean, caused him to shut down because physical pain was one thing, physical pain was easy, but emotional pain was something else entirely. Turning and walking out, slamming the door and making Roman startle. 

Running a hand along Roman's spine, soothingly, offering a, "Someone slammed a door down the hall. Everything's alright, Big Dog," that Roman would have probably called him out on as absolute bullshit had he been in the right state of mind. As it was, Roman nodded and made a vague noise of acknowledgement, pressing back to meet Seth's thrusts, already so close because Seth had been edging him for /days/ now, loved how Roman would mewl and beg to come but wouldn't dare to without permission. Proof that Roman /needed/ Seth (and Seth needed to be needed, though he'd never admit that to anyone, himself included), which was maybe why Seth kept denying him. Wanting to see just how far he could push Roman in his newfound forgiveness, his total acceptance of Seth's authority.


	2. interlude

Roman tried so hard to be good. It would have been embarrassing, humiliating in any other situation, how obviously /eager/ he was to please -- but it was /Seth/ who saw him like that, who, after everything that had happened, was still his brother, had once been his closest confidant. And it wasn't as if there was any chance Roman could keep his cool, especially not once Seth took him under, because then everything slowly started to fall away; bit by bit his armor would crumble, those walls he'd built would come down, baring /everything/ for Seth to see.

And Seth loved to watch Roman. What almost might have been described as /fondness/ stirring in his chest as he grinned down at Roman, crooked and mischievous, palming himself through his pants. Roman, who had waited, on his knees, in Seth's locker room until he came back. It was evident that he hadn't moved, save maybe to shift his weight a little. He could only imagine how uncomfortable and stiff Roman was, but he'd known as soon as he'd given the order that Roman would obey.

He had to, after all. He would never say it out loud, but it was clear to Seth that Roman had blamed himself for Seth leaving (surely, of course, there had been arguments with Dean where Roman had thrown some of the responsibility for Seth's betrayal on their fair haired /brother/, but even anger couldn't wash away that feeling of having let Seth down). Roman would never /say it/, would never admit in any number of words the guilt he carried, but that was alright; his actions were always far more telling than anything he could ever verbally articulate.

Seth had been wondering for a while now just how far he had to push Roman before he simply couldn't obey, pondered how Roman would /react/ when he failed to follow orders, though for now he simply twisted his fingers in Roman's hair and gave it a yank, offering a, "Good boy." Roman all but swooned at the praise, pressing up into Seth's hand with heavy-lidded eyes.

Opting to shower at the arena, tossing Roman the keys for him to drive them back to the hotel. For the longest time, Seth had been near-paranoid about someone figuring out that he was sharing a hotel room with Roman, going to somewhat extreme lengths to prevent that from happening, like staggering when they went inside and ensuring enough time that people wouldn't notice (which often meant one of them, usually Roman, sitting in the rental for half an hour in the parking lot), or refusing to let them even travel to the hotel together. However, just the idea that Dean might see them, might /know/ they were sharing a room together, like Roman and Dean had done before whatever had caused the two of them to fall apart before the brand split -- Seth hadn't asked, hadn't felt the need to, because all that mattered was that Roman had forgiven Seth, and Dean would come around, he /had/ to come around -- well, it made him smirk and feel a vague sense of satisfaction.

And he knew for a fact that Dean was staying in the same hotel; it was the one closest to the arena, and Dean always tended to opt for the closest place. The blessings of having the brands traveling together, he supposed. Maybe Dean would even have a room on the same floor, would be close enough to hear Roman when Seth had him begging to come, voice loud and desperate, forgetting in his daze that they had neighbors. Normally, Seth would enforce a rule about how quiet Roman had to be or would even gag him, not wanting everyone and their mother to know who Seth Rollins had spent the night fucking, but this was an exception. This time, Roman could be as loud as he liked, a raucous volume even /encouraged/.

There was evident confusion on Roman's face at first, when Seth had him strip down and lay on his back, restrained his wrists and tied them to the headboard. Uncertainty when Seth slapped one thick thigh hard and Roman bit his lip to muffle his yell, earning another slap on the other thigh and a disapproving sound from Seth. "I want to hear you," firm and commanding, the type of tone that Roman always responded so beautifully to.

The hesitation disappeared when Seth layered a series of slaps, alternating thighs, that rung out sharply in the room; Roman tipped his head back, lips parting as he moaned and arched his back, finding pleasure in the sting of the blows. Cock already straining, edged to the point of a desperation that had Roman hardening at any lingering touch from Seth. Seth couldn't /remember/ the last time he'd let Roman come, though something told him Roman could've given him the exact date of his last orgasm, and, while Roman had made it clear that he loved being teased and denied, it was clearly becoming more difficult as time went on.

"Over," Seth ordered, licking his lips when Roman complied, movements smooth and fluid, getting his knees under himself without having to be told, presenting his ass with a slight shake, as if trying to tempt Seth. He'd left enough slack in the restraints for him to be able to roll over comfortably, though it did dig into Roman's wrists a bit.

/Smack/, onto one round cheek, watching it ripple, then /smack/ on the other, watching the skin flush from the force of the blows as Roman keened and fisted the sheets. Roman slipped under easily, became wanton and needy, louder than usual because that was what Seth seemed to want and Roman wanted nothing more than to /please/.

Slicking his fingers, Seth watched as Roman fucked himself on Seth's digits as best he could in the position he was in, crooking them ever-so-slightly at one point just for the way he shoved his face in the pillow and bellowed, body twitching at the jolt of pleasure.

Roman was a mess by the time Seth actually entered him, lips parted and harsh breaths escaping, intermingled with pleas to come, /please/, he's been so /good/. Silence was his only answer, something that made a frustrated whine claw its way up his throat -- cut off when Seth fisted his hair and yanked it back, strands wrapped around his fist.

Something told Seth that Roman really wasn't exaggerating how close he was to the edge so, of course, Seth angled his thrusts just /so/, increased the pace and smirked, unseen, as Roman writhed and struggled not to come. Then, with a sound not unlike having the air punched out of his gut, Roman came, body freezing and Seth's movements instantly stilling.

Quiet, and then Roman's voice, cracking, "I'm sorry, Seth, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to-" Seth watched, almost /captivated/ as Roman buried his face in the pillow, body shaking with what took Seth several moments to recognize as sobs. Seth pulled out and Roman's head whipped up, yanking on the restraints too-hard and trying to look behind him at Seth. "Please don't leave, /please/, I'm sorry."

"Shh, Big Dog, it's alright. I'm not going anywhere," Seth found himself murmuring, far kinder than he expected from himself, hands gentle as they undid Roman's restraints and pulled the larger man into his lap, sitting down on the bed as arms wrapped around the Samoan's quivering frame. "It was a mistake. It happens, Ro, I'm not upset." The words forming on his lips without conscious thought, catching himself off guard with how true they rang.

Maybe Seth cared more than he'd admitted to himself.


End file.
